Princess
by Cate Eliot
Summary: She regretted the failure. She regretted not being able to make her father proud, not being able to be his perfect princess. But by the end of the mission, the only thing she can do is remember to keep breathing. A Somalia reflection. (Tiva implied) Complete.


A/N: All characters, cases, and locations belong to CBS and affiliates. Please review.

**TIME: aprox. 2:35 a.m.**

**LOCATION: Driving in the desert, trying to get far away from Somalia.**

Ziva David is afraid of no one.

Or at least that was what she was told for years and year and years. She supposed that after she was told that for so long, that she began to believe it. It had been said over and over, regardless of whether or not it was actually true.

Ziva David is afraid of no one.

Over and over, her father's words echoing through her mind. Was she really afraid of anyone? He would always remind her, even before she joined Mossad that she was afraid of no one.

When Little Ziva was afraid of the raging storm, Eli would remind her that Little Ziva was afraid of no one and nothing. When teenage Ziva was learning to fight, he would remind her, my beautiful Ziva is not afraid of losing. She is not afraid of her opponent, no matter how big, tall, or strong. When Michael Rifkin walked into her life, her father mused over at his desk, thoroughly amused of how his 18 years old daughter was afraid. "Ziva David," he reminded her, "is not afraid of love."

Ziva David is afraid of no one.

She kept repeating it, over and over, in her head. It was the only thing she could hold onto now. She could hear voices around her. Something big had happened. Something had stopped Saleem's knife before it had plunged through Tony's back.

_TONY! _

She remembered seeing Tony and—another wave of agony washed over her and she lost the thought. Her body was moving and quickly.

Had she been rescued?

No.

She discarded the thought as soon as it entered her mind. Her father did not care enough to send a rescue. She doubted Malachi had even gotten back to headquarters yet to inform him that she had gone alone.

She mentally shook her head. No, Malachi would have never made it to her father before she made it to Saleem. Malachi was shot and his arm bleeding at a profusely dangerous rate. Travel would have been slow. Arik would have been no better; his sense of direction would have them lost within a supermarket.

She had left them to go alone. It was their last and best chance of killing Saleem and his group of men. She was her father's best hope of taking him down. And she knew that. So, she went alone.

"_Ziva! Stop! This is suicide," _she remembered Malachi yelling at her and the movement of the sea beneath her.

"_It is what it is!" _

She shivered, a sudden cold draft washing over her sweaty skin. Her skin crawled as she felt someone trying to move her. She tried to jerk away from him—she was sure it was _him_. She could feel callouses on his hand, probably from using a gun for many year.

She felt his hand retracted and was silently relieved that there was no more pain added carelessly to her body.

She regretted not being able to complete the mission. The one mission she had actually failed at. When she was young, she often heard of Ari's failures at Mossad before he was sent to study medicine. She had adored him, but secretly wanted to be perfect daughter her Abba wanted. His perfect Princess.

She remembered Saleem's greasy smug face, grinning down at her. The scar above his left eye marked him as her target. The only target she had ever not eliminated. Another memory washed up to her mind.

Behind her eye lids, her coffee colored eyes moved quickly.

_Saleem was standing in the corner of the room, hands resting in his pockets. His Middle Eastern scarred face was planted with a large grin. It made her blood boil. How could she be stupid as she just wildly go cantering through his camp, shooting her way to an enemy? She was not a fool. Her father had not trained a dumb child!_

"_Hello, Miss David. Do you know who I am?" He leaned down so that he was eye level with Ziva. The inside of her nose stung with the scent of his strong, overpowering cologne. _

_She sized up her chances of ever getting out of here. He had an army stationed here. She was only one assassin. "Yes," she answered, strongly. "You are Saleem Ulman." _

_With a snap of her tightly bound risks, she threw her last and final knife she had hidden inside her belt. Her perfected aim struck him vertically, right across the other eye. _

_The wound matched the scar on his other eyes. She was shoved roughly to the ground as two of Saleem's men beat her, ruthlessly. She tried to ignore the pain and enjoy the satisfaction swirling in her chest at the look on the monster's face when the knife struck. _

"_Stop," he grunted. "Stop."_

_The men slowly conceded and Ziva spit blood from the corner of her mouth. "Stop," he repeated, breathing hard and clutching his eye. "Don't kill her, just yet. I want to watch Eli David's favorite child _break_. Then, then, we can kill her." _

She remembered the pain—the lashes, electric shocks, cigarette burns—and let out a quiet moan. The voices produced, fuzzy, and distant.

"She's running a high fever boss."

"Hang in there, Ziva, we're almost there."

Ziva David is afraid of no one.

She tried to calm her erratic breathing and focus on staying alive. That's all she reduced down to, trying to breathe. At first she bullied herself into trying to gleam information or keep tabs on their numbers, but as the pain grew constant and the months passed the only thing she could do was remember how to breathe.

Ziva David…is afraid of no one.

Ziva David…is afraid of no one.


End file.
